


Meine Schöne

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Groping, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 19:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Unsurprisingly, your shower is interrupted once again by Paul, who has no hesitation to join.





	Meine Schöne

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh no one read this I'm ashamed
> 
> anyways I hope all who choose to read are practically inexperienced and easily-flustered because that's how I wrote the reader. since this fic was for me, I didn't try to keep the reader standard;;; additionally, this is my first time seriously writing and uploading reader fic...

The multicolored tiles of the spacious shower are smooth under your feet. The bypass shower door is closed, made foggy by the plumes of steam rising from the hot water that washes over your body. The high window above the shower casts rays of sunlight across your flushed, wet skin and peaceful face. With your hands raised, you rake your fingers through your dripping locks, eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar as you release a lengthy exhale.

The sound of the bathroom door opening hadn't reached your ears above the noisy spray of the shower; though you _do_ notice the shower door being drawn open with a rattle. Startled, you take a step back, eyes opening to train on the smiling face of Paul. The smile accentuates his crow's feet; when he notices the look on your face, his smile becomes broader and bares a sliver of teeth. He looks so damn amused.

“Don't mind me,” he says in accented English, which earns a faint smile from you. You don't care that he's interrupted your shower; the gesture is sweet and has your stomach filling with butterflies. You can't help but let your eyes roam. As Paul steps inside and slides the shower door shut behind himself, you admire. His chest isn't as firm as it once was; it's softened, though not unpleasantly so. His stomach is shaped into a soft pouch due to age and his slight weight gain, and when he leans over to grab the bar of soap from the tiled seat of the shower, it briefly wrinkles into cute rolls.

Heat rushes up into your face and you look away before your gaze could venture further south, beyond the dark hair past his soft stomach. He glances up towards you as he rubs the bar of soap between his broad hands, both worn from decades of playing guitar.

Even if he has pulled this sort of thing before, it doesn't make it any less flustering. You don't know what to say, or do, really, besides press your hands over your face and burn up. Paul laughs softly, a low chuckle from behind you, soon to be joined by a gentle press of soapy hands to your bare sides. He steps up close behind you and presses a tender kiss to your shoulder. You sheepishly lower your hands from your face and look back at him with red cheeks. He smiles warmly and then says teasingly with a sly smirk, spoken lowly in thick English, “Don't take up all the water. I'm freezing over here.”

“Says the man who invited himself in,” you remark, though you turn yourself to face him, reaching out to curl a hand around his side and urge him closer under the spray. He grins, broad enough it has his crow's feet appearing once again, his laugh lines becoming prominent. He raises a hand, now rinsed from the warm water, to cup the back of your head, thumb placed under your ear, and pulls you in for a sweet kiss to your warm cheek.

“You tolerate so much,” Paul says sarcastically as he searches in your eyes, a warm smile on his aged face, which has _you_ laughing this time, though you don't retort to that with anything more. Instead, you return the gesture by leaning in to place a gentle kiss to his cheek; his graying scruff scratches against your chin as you do. Encouraged by the kiss, Paul draws a warm arm around your lower back, calloused hand draping loosely around your hip, fingers curling into your wet skin. Heat erupts in your face again, extending to your ears. He escapes your kiss to place his own series of intimate kisses against your hot cheek, your jaw, your ear.

The hot water rushes over both of you, flattening his dark hair and running between his lips and your skin. Paul is shameless—he doesn't hesitate to slide his hand up along the length of your back, which has you tensing up. You're becoming flustered, and equally aroused. His facial hair is rough against your skin when he mouths at your shoulder, then back up along your neck.

It's always been a bit strange having a man thrice your age touching you like this. But, somehow, it only contributes to the enjoyment of it. Paul has lived through a lifetime of experiences, he has partaken in much more sex, thus there's a confidence he has that most men, and certainly you, don't have. He has the maturity of a man that you're drawn to. As well as the body. Your hands are stiff, unsure of what to do, though the warm kissing and affectionate stroking of his hand has you placing your hands on his sides. You shyly stroke them around to his front; you touch his soft belly, his chest, his nipples that you feel against your palms as your hands wander up.

His cheeks are warm and slightly stubbly under your hands when you cup them—he draws back from kissing you, to gaze at you with lidded eyes (and you _still_ haven't figured out what his eye color is, despite the countless times you've looked into them). Your fingers are curled around the sides of his face, tucked under his ears; his silver hoop earrings are cool against your index fingers. His short hair clings tightly to his forehead, and his eyelashes are dripping with shower water. The apples of his cheeks are accentuated by his cute pursed smile.

“Let me wash you, _meine schöne_ ,” he says, his smile broadening into a grin. Warmth is in his eyes. You nod and lean in to press a shy kiss to his forehead, which has him laughing again. His hands squeeze around your sides, thumbs pressing into the flushed flesh of your belly. Raising a hand, he spins his index finger with an arched brow, a silent command for you to turn. You obediently expose your back to him and angle your face up into the warm water.

Paul's hands gently grasp your sides, and then he's guiding you to take a step back, out of the spray. It leaves the both of you dripping with water—the steam keeps you warm. You hear him rubbing the soap between his hands. Before you can even glance back, his hands, thick with suds, stroke up your sides. This time, he does it slowly, with a firmer touch. His fingertips glide along your skin, pressing into your flesh hard enough to evoke another hot rush of blood that shoots up into your face, and down between your thighs.

He doesn't hesitate. He strokes his broad hands along your tummy. He squeezes a firm handful in his fingers, grasping at your flesh, and it has you making a slight noise that shows you were trying to hold it in. He leans forward and kisses your shoulder with pursed lips—you can feel his smile against your skin. Again, his scruff rubs against you. His hands venture up to your ribcage, stroking along the valleys of the bone; your breasts rest against the back of his hands. Then he steps closer, close enough for his front to align with your back. His body feels warm and soft against your own; though the sensation of his half-hard cock pressing to your lower back is more flustering than anything. You try to keep your cool, but you know _he_ knows you're struggling to.

Rather than keep your hands by your sides, you decide to rest them over his forearms, along the attractive muscle winding around his arms. Paul is kissing at your neck and ear as his soapy hands slowly ascend to cup your breasts. You watch, mouth agape and cheeks hot, enthralled by the sight of having your soft, supple breasts in his broad hands. He squeezes them firmly; the wet flesh bulges out from between his fingers. You manage a gasp. He seems to have liked that simple noise, for he hums against your shoulder, and then kisses you there again. It has you realizing he's watching himself touch you past your shoulder.

His broad thumbs stroke down over the swell of your breasts, to rub across your pink nipples. Your hands clench around his forearms. Paul circles his thumbs against your hard nipples, sending sparks of sensation throughout your upper half, and ultimately, it centers in your belly, burning as hot arousal. You let out a shuddering breath and it has him responding eagerly—you tense up when you feel him roll his hips slightly, just enough to run the length of his stiffening cock against your lower back. In return, you're punched in the gut with arousal.

You want to touch _him_ now. You want to make _him_ feel good. But it appears he has no plan to stop soon. He continues stroking his hands over your breasts, covering them with a layer of soap suds. They're wet and shimmering in the sunlight, which pours in through the high window above you. His facial hair scratching against your skin as he kisses over your shoulder and neck has you shuddering with more force this time—now, your nerves are alive and responsive. He bites at your ear and neck in gentle nips, while pinching your nipples between his curled forefingers and thumbs.

You're not one to talk during such an intimate exchange like this, but you are one to respond. You dig your fingernails into his muscular forearms again and suck in a breath. Paul squeezes your breasts in his hands again, and then pinches your nipples one more time, with a smile pressed to your shoulder, before his hands change course. You let out a breath and watch with a red face as his hands descend over your clenched belly.

A series of flustered curses trail through your thoughts as his hands curl around your thighs and _squeeze,_ simply because any other coherent thought is stripped away. He does it hard enough to border just barely on painful. His fingertips and thumbs dig into your flesh, and it absolutely turns you on.

“Be a good girl and let me touch you,” he says in rough English, spoken teasingly, softly into your ear. Embarrassed to the point of becoming mute, you say nothing, though you do nod. Hearing Paul call you such a thing is driving you a little crazy—you're a bit in disbelief, really. But you obey. You nervously shift, placing your feet further apart. His hand immediately slips in-between your thighs. You continue clutching at his forearms, though you do stroke your hands up and down shyly, shakily.

“Dankeschön,” Paul teasingly says, if only to fluster you further, and then strokes his blunt fingers through your pubic hair before curling them into your pussy. He isn't subtle, nor polite about it. He presses his thumb firmly against your clit while rubbing his fingers against your vagina. You expect some sort of teasing remark that you're completely soaking wet, but he remains silent as he teases at your hole with a finger. You nearly buckle forward when he begins to slowly circle his thumb against your clit while angling his hand to push his middle finger inside you—it was such an onslaught of sharp pleasure, so abruptly. You stop yourself, but not without jerking slightly with a raising of your hands. He notices, and chuckles. He winds his other arm around your midsection to keep you rooted against himself.

“Maybe we'll save that for when we get out,” he muses, and then removes his finger to instead rub all four of his fingers against your pussy in a slow circling motion, against your clit and flushed folds. This time you do moan, albeit softly, your hands clenching into fists. He kisses your neck sweetly and then lets you go. You hate losing his embrace, but you were becoming overwhelmed.

Despite your embarrassment, you turn to face him, and meet his gaze. You feel exposed and flustered, unsure of how to act around someone so experienced and mature as he, but you gather your courage to reach out and take his hand. In a bold move, you bring it to your face to kiss his fingers and palm with your gaze trained on his. His eyes light up with surprise, and then they soften to amusement and enjoyment, that warm smile returning to his aged face. Face alight with a blush, you maintain that eye contact as you bring his middle finger into your mouth—the same finger that had just been inside of you. He blinks, and looks at you with surprise once again.

Warm tongue pressed to his finger, you close your lips around it and bite down, gently. As you draw his hand back with your fingers curled gently around his wrist, you suck lightly. Then his finger drops out from between your lips. He touches at your bottom lip with a faint smirk on his face.

“Can we move to the bed now?” you ask quietly, forcing yourself to maintain that boldness. He blinks again, and then smiles faintly. He nods. You appreciate he didn't say anything teasing. Placing a kiss against his hand, you let it go.

 

* * *

 

It was actually quite sobering witnessing Paul dry himself off. It was an intimate moment, standing together in the bathroom, wiping away the remnants of your shared shower. Paul ruffles his hair while you do the same, attempting to rid the dripping water from your locks if only to avoid wetting the pillowcases later on. As you fasten your towel around your body, he ties the towel around his waist, and then following a loving peck to your temple, he leads you out of the bathroom. His hair is disheveled from his attempt to dry it out, and it is incredibly endearing. You're used to the impeccably flat look it typically holds—seeing it messy is a gift.

He pinches your sides through your towel as he practically marches you to the wide bed in the adjoined bedroom. Pressing two fingertips to the center of your shoulder blades, he says in a gruff voice, “I believe this is your final stop, young lady.”

It is not sexy in the least, and completely unfitting, but it has you laughing regardless, because Paul is being a fucking dork again.

“That was hot,” you say, turning to him, “How did you know being threatened at gunpoint turns me on?”

That has him chuckling with a grin, his crow's feet appearing. He looks adorable, smiling like that. Despite his age, this man is somehow still adorable. It has you smiling and reaching up to cup the sides of his face. You lean in with an angling of your head to plant a shy, brief kiss to his lips. It was more of a peck than anything. Pulling back to meet his gaze, you see something kind and loving in his eyes. An amused smile curls over his lips.

“That didn't last long enough,” he comments, gray eyes becoming lidded, “How can you expect me to be satisfied with that?”

“You're a man who takes what he wants,” you say, “I think you can get a longer one out of me.”

That has him laughing again. You smile yourself and withdraw your hands from his face to silently unravel your towel, before tossing it somewhere towards the laundry hamper. His eyes immediately swim down to admire what you've exposed. Emboldened from the teasing banter, you reach out to grip his towel and pull him closer. He takes an unsteady step forward, laughing lightly, and then you pull the towel off, revealing his nudity in its entirety.

“Come,” Paul says without wait, gripping your wrist. You willingly follow him onto the bed. He pushes you onto the pillows, flat on your back.

 _Asking_ for oral is something that has never been an issue; Paul pulls apart your legs and lowers down between them. You grasp at one of the pillows and clench your teeth, watching with a burning face as he kisses passionately over your inner thighs, his broad hands squeezing around your sides. Without much patience, he bites a mouthful of your thigh, which has you jolting, and then he brings his face in-between your legs. You jerk a hand up to bite your fingers between your teeth as he closes his mouth around your cunt. His eyes are lustful when they flick up to meet yours. Seeing his matured face between your legs is a visual that has heat coursing through your belly.

His mouth is hot and his tongue is even hotter. It licks between your folds, tasting how incredibly wet you are. It's hard to keep track of everything he does to you; he alternates between licking _into_ you, mouthing at your sensitive clit, gently biting the pink folds of your pussy between his teeth, and sucking at the entirety of your cunt. He's enthusiastic, and it's unbearably hot watching him, though sensation alone only has you breathing heavily, _until_ he pushes his tongue into you. The feeling of him doing so has you clenching up and moaning. He notices and repeatedly pushes his hot tongue into your pussy, his eyes wide and watching your face contort with pleasure.

He does this repeatedly, pausing occasionally to sweep his tongue over your clit. Then he brings his hand down to tease your wet hole with a finger. Sliding it inside, he closes his mouth around your clit and sensitive folds to suck, his eyes closing—you jerk and gasp sharply. He moves his finger back and forth before adding his middle finger. Then he draws back just enough to watch himself turn his wrist, replace his index finger with his ring finger, and begin to firmly curl his fingers up towards your g-spot.

It immediately gets a reaction out of you: your legs clench up and you can't help but gasp, “Oh, fuck! Paul!”

He smiles at your response and does it with more force, clenching his fingers repeatedly, unrelentingly up against your g-spot. You curl like a bow and moan, hands in white-knuckled fists. He doesn't stop; he fingers you unwaveringly, watching you flex and shift with shaking legs and an agape mouth. He pins you down with a firm hand against your heaving tummy and watches your face as he abuses your g-spot, with vulgar wet sounds joining your moans. He leans in to lick at your clit and then closes his mouth around it to suck—it's enough to have your hips rising from the bed, though he easily follows and continues fingering you while sucking, until you cry out and jerk a hand down to clutch at his messy hair.

“Oh, fuck!” you gasp again, and then you become utterly silent, locked up and shaking, hands clutching at the sheets. He watches your face as you come. Fireworks explode behind your clenched eyelids, your belly swimming with an incredible, indescribable heat that has your breath catching in your throat. Paul continues fingering you until you drop back down onto the bed, shuddering and pressing a hand to your face. He laughs softly and leans in to kiss your tummy a few times, his wet fingers gently rubbing against your flushed pussy. Oh God, that felt so good, you _almost_ want him to keep going. The kisses felt nice, and you _absolutely_ want more of those.

“Kiss me more,” you mumble breathlessly, peeking from between your fingers. Glancing up at you, Paul smiles and nods. He ducks his head down to kiss over your belly some more, his beard scratching your flushed skin. He smiles against your skin as he presses soft kisses along your sides, up to your heaving ribcage. You watch past your fingers, blushing heavily with a weak smile on your face. He smooches your soft breasts, and then he gently grasps your wrist to draw your hand away.

You look at him, embarrassed. A sly grin spreads over his face upon seeing your expression, his wrinkles becoming accentuated. He leans in to kiss your forehead, and that has your heart seizing. He kisses your temple, your cheek, your nose, and then with an angle of his head, your lips. You lift a hand, suspended and hesitant in the air, before shyly bringing it in to cup the back of his head. Paul's lips are wet and warm against your own.

The kiss is slow and intimate—your lips purse together, overlapping again and again, and it's filling you with such warmth. Kissing him makes you feel content, like you've never felt before. You can feel your smile begin to break through, and you try to stifle it. He notices and chuckles against your lips. Paul purses his mouth against yours with finality and then breaks the kiss to mouth over your jaw and throat. You happily turn your head to give him room to do so. Further and further he descends, until he's cupping one of your breasts in a broad, calloused hand and sucking a warm, pink nipple into his mouth. It has you tensing up and exhaling heavily. You watch him suck with hollowed cheeks and a furrowed brow. When he bites it gently between his teeth, you gasp and clutch at his shoulder with a slight dig of your fingernails.

He's just as impatient as you; he stops if only to align his body with yours. You eagerly spread your legs and drape them around him. Planting a hand against the bed, Paul watches your face with his own flushed, his eyes intense with arousal, lips in a faint smirk. Glancing down, he watches himself grip his cock and rub it against your pussy—you moan. Raising a hand, you stroke it up over his bicep and shoulder, across his faded tattoo, to drape your arm around his shoulders, your fingers curling up into his buzzed hair.

Paul continues rubbing himself against your pussy, watching the way the pink head of his cock ran between your flushed folds and up against your swollen clit. It has you shuddering and tightening your legs around him. Finally, he stops teasing you.

When he pushes in slowly, you moan again, while he lets out a rushed exhale. He leans in closer on top of you, pinning you with his body. He kisses at your temple and the side of your head. You melt back into the pillows and happily cling to him. Paul just basks in the warmth of your body for a moment; he holds you close while pressing endless kisses to your shoulder and face, which eventually has you grinning and laughing out a breathless call of his name, “Paul!”

“Okay,” he says, a smile in his voice. He leans back to plant his hands against your body, wrapped around your ribcage to keep you pinned. He bears his weight into you as he begins to fuck you with rocks of his hips, slow at first. You moan and sink back into the pillows. He watches your face shift with pleasure as he picks up the pace of his thrusting, until his pelvis is shoving against your inner thighs with enough force to have you crying out. Through habit, you bring your fingers up to your mouth to bite onto them.

The heat that bursts throughout every part of you with each connection of your bodies is overwhelming; being with Paul like this is beyond just the sensation alone. It's amazing how turned on you are right now, being pinned to the bed and fucked eagerly by the other man. He's even moaning now, soft and under his breath, but you hear it. It encourages you to watch his face—his cheeks are deeply flushed, his mouth fallen open and eyes trained down on your body. You drop your gaze to watch his slick shaft pump into your body. The visual contributes to your heightened pleasure, which in turn has you moaning around your fingers, until Paul begins to slow down. Bringing your hand down from your face to grip the covers, you glance up to watch him, biting your bottom lip.

You consider teasing him for his old age, but you don't want to break the atmosphere. So you say nothing, you only reach out to stroke your hand up over his clenching belly, across soft rolls, up to his chest. With his gray eyes lidded and fixed down on your face, he lets you touch him, keeping you pinned with his hands around your ribcage as he slowly rocks his hips against you. Your stroke your hand over his side, feeling beads of sweat as your touch ascends.

After catching his breath, Paul begins to snap his hips against you with more force, your bodies meeting noisily with a moan drawn out of you. He lets you go to plant one elbow against the bed, his other hand reaching down to begin rubbing at your swollen clit as he fucks you. You bring your arms around him, clutching at his back. He kisses at your shoulder and chest with loving purses of his lips. You clench up entirely, the stimulation to your clit overwhelming your senses. He definitely feels it, and it draws a quiet moan from his lips. He jerks his hips against you forcefully a dozen more times, while shakily circling his fingers against your clit. You're moaning and gasping meanwhile, eyes fluttering open repeatedly if only to watch his face.

Leaning in, he presses his forehead against your temple and continues touching you despite his obvious exhaustion.

“Coming,” he whispers, a statement that brushes against your cheek and jaw in a breathless exhale. You tighten your legs around him in silent encouragement. He stops touching you momentarily, if only to lean back, cup his hands under your knees, and draw your legs apart. He watches himself fuck you, until his thrusts slow to a stop and he's letting out a long, shuddering exhale, his eyes closing. You reach out to run your hand up over his clenching tummy to cup his side, a faint smile on your face. He squeezes his rough hands around your knees and then strokes one up along your leg to cup your ankle, before he presses a kiss to it with a smile.

Then, he pulls out and moves off of you to collapse onto the bed beside you. He takes your hand and brings it up to his face to kiss it.

“Come here,” Paul murmurs against your hand, his eyes lidded and trained on you. You smile at him and shift closer. He draws an arm around you and plants a firm, sweet kiss to your forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
